Break A Leg
by Saif Reynolds
Summary: Sam & Dean check out a mysterious death at a theatre in Maine, where they may just have to tread the boards themselves. Set around the end of series 1 but no major spoilers. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

"Break A Leg"

**Portland, Maine**

The crowds poured out of _'The Foy'_, a small but respectable theatre in downtown Portland. It was no longer in the Foy family, but carried on its tradition of Shakespearean theatre. The audience that night had just enjoyed Richard Emerson's production of _'King Lear'_, starring his own daughter, Sherry. She now sat in the dressing room, scribbling in her diary and rubbing at her watery eyes. It should have been a night to celebrate. Critics were hailing her as one of the best actresses to tread the boards, that night especially. They said Cordelia was the role she was born to play. She would have basked in the praise a bit more were it not for the more pressing matters on her mind. Things had gotten increasingly worse between her and Evan, her indecisive boyfriend.

She sniffed and continued to write.

'_I don't know what to do. Sometimes he swears he's in love with me... close to obsessed! Even my friends say so. But then other times... I honestly don't know. It seemed like things were getting serious, then he started to rant about how he hated marriage and left. I have no idea what to do...'_

She stopped writing and glanced at the door. "Someone there?"

She waited for a response, but there was none. She was about to speak again when she heard the same sound, this time it was coming from the window. She turned towards it and listened closely. It sounded like the wind, but the window wasn't open. She shrugged and went back to writing.

'_Everyone says I should leave him, but it mightn't be tha' _

She dropped the pen onto the little book and turned to the window quickly. She moved towards it and tried to see through the lace curtain, squinting her eyes. The only thing she could make out was the brook that ran by the back of the theatre.

She rubbed her forehead and sighed, "I'm just tired..."

Returning to the dimly lit desk, she shut her diary and slid it into her bag. After she'd cleaned her face and given time for the redness in her eyes to subside, she headed downstairs to the cast and crew who were helping to clean up.

"Hey, guys," she smiled as she called.

A tall, older man rested his bag down on a chair and walked over to her. He placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her lightly on the forehead, "you were fantastic tonight. You should be very proud."

She gazed up at him and smiled with her crimson painted lips. "Thanks, Dad."

"We're just heading out to celebrate closing night. Are you coming with us?"

Sherry made a face as she though. "Umm... I'm not in the bar mood lately. I think I'll just make for home."

Richard, her father, looked at her with his weary eyes. He still appeared young for his age but the eyes gave away the stressful years he'd spent in theatres. Not to mention the hassle of bringing up a rambunctious daughter alone after her mother walked out on them. She'd always been prone to dramatics. He was just happy she found a way to vent that unruly energy.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

She widened her already too-big-to-be-real-smile and gave a short, quiet laugh. "Yeah, Dad. I'm fine."

"Hey, you ready?" called a female's voice from near the door.

Sherry gave her father a hug and told him to go on ahead, promising she'd be okay.

They all cleared out, even the owner, Desmond Cale who lived there. He trusted Sherry to lock up when she left. She decided to get a head start on learning her next script, _'Hamlet'_. Portland were having a Shakespearean festival and _The Foy_ was set on performing a play a week for its duration. It was an old tradition of the theatre, one that hadn't been practiced for a long time. Not since the early 1910s when the place was closed. Cale had purchased it just the previous year and had been working up to a grand opening. What better opening than the Shakespeare festival? _'King Lear'_ was the first production in the season.

Sherry had already read _'Hamlet'_ at least thirty times over. She just couldn't wait to get on the stage and become Ophelia. It would be such a great role for her. As she weaved between the seats and up the centre aisle, she read aloud. She continued to read as she made her way onto the stage to really get a feel of the part. She couldn't wait to see the reviews after her next performance. These thoughts lifted her heavy heart for a short time. She kept reading, skipping ahead to her lines of dialogue.

As she strolled across the stage and back she got more and more into the part. She felt herself totally being given over to the character. She couldn't believe how far she'd come in the theatre world. She _was_ proud.

Her reading grew more intense, she even felt as though she could hear the other actors respond. She didn't feel as if she was rehearsing alone, or that she was rehearsing at all.

The more passionate the words became the more she began to think about her life. It seemed as though she could finally see her life clearly when she was feeling the most detached.

She stopped pacing and lowered the script. She hung her head and rubbed the back of her neck. "Oh, God..." she muttered. The last thing she wanted to think about when she was happy was Evan.

She sighed. "...Evan..." Why was he acting the way he was? She couldn't wrap her head around it. It made her angry just thinking about it, angry and confused. It was rising in her, all the emotions she had suppressed. The ones she could only show when she was on stage. The tears began to flow but they didn't offer the release she hoped they would. She felt like she was going mad. Evan was driving her crazy.

She threw the book to the ground and made her was towards the back exit.

"Air."

After struggling with the lock, the door swung open and she stepped out into the cool breeze that fluttered her long coppery blonde hair. She wiped at her eyes and moved closer to a wispy tree that stretched out over the brook. She remembered her happy childhood days when she'd climb trees and get into all kinds of scrapes. She was such a tomboy. A little smile appeared on her fair face as she reached up and grabbed onto a branch. Sniffing back the tears that kept coming, she pulled herself up and found a comfortable place on a thick branch.

_No point stopping now. _

Sherry kept on climbing until she was over the gently running water. When she stopped to look down, she thought she seen something below. She reached to rub her eyes in an effort to clear her vision, but in doing so she lost her grip on the smooth branch. She let out a short, sharp scream before hitting the bottom of the brook with a cold, heavy splash.


	2. Chapter 2

**One Week Later**

Sam Winchester sat slouched in the passenger seat of the Impala, his elbow resting on the open window frame as he stared at a newspaper. He'd found a new job for them to work, well he thought he merited a closer look. If only he could get Dean's attention to tell him about it. His brother was in the service station taking an unnecessary about of time paying for their food. Sam sighed and looked towards through the glass walls to see what was taking him so long.

"Of course..." He dropped his head back against the seat.

Dean had both palms planted on the counter, leaning in close to the cashier as they spoke. She sat on the other side, twirling her blonde locks with pink varnished fingernails.

"That is so sweet of you, looking after your brother like that," she fawned.

He grinned, stifling a laugh she wouldn't understand. "Well, Sammy did always need a little more looking after than other kids". He glanced out to the car, putting on a face that said 'my brave little trooper'.

Sam stretched over to the driver's side and honked the horn.

"He loves playing with that horn. I'd let him do it all day if it didn't bug the hell out of me," he said as he turned his attention back to her. She was still looking at him in awe of his care for his brother. "Looks like I gotta get back out to Rainman. But, eh," he smiled, picking up a little piece of paper she'd scribbled on, "I'll give ya a call." He gave her a little wink before grabbing the brown paper bag from the counter and pushing his way out through the doors.

"Dammit, Sammy. First half way good looking chick we've seen for miles and I can't have a little conversation." He rounded the car and plopped into the driver's side.

"It's not the conversation I was worried about."

Dean rolled his eyes and started to open the bag.

"I think I found something."

Dean pulled out a sandwich and unwrapped it. "Oh, yeah?"

"A young woman in Portland drown. Police say she fell from a tree into the brook."

"So it was an accident..."

Sam held the article up for Dean to see. "Look familiar?"

The paper had published a photo of the Millais painting 'Ophelia'; a young woman wearing a long dress floating in a stream surrounded by flowers and plant life.

"They printed a crime scene photo?" Dean raised an eyebrow from behind a mess of tinfoil.

"No. Dude, this is an incredibly famous painting! But this is how they found, ah," he scanned his eyes over the article, "Sherry Emerson. She had just finished a successful run in her father's production of _'King Lear'_. Her next starring role was in _'Hamlet'_." He stared at his brother, waiting for a reaction.

"And?"

"Have you ever read a book? _'Hamlet'_? She was going to play Ophelia."

Dean ran the back of his hand over his mouth. "So, maybe she was dying in the name of art or some crap like that..."

"Dean, come on. It's a job. Or at least it could be. You've gotta admit it's a little coincidental."

He rolled up the tinfoil into a ball and tossed it back into the bag. "Alright, but there better be some hot actresses up here." Dean revved the engine and took off from the service station.


End file.
